


Pago

by Awesomepie3221



Series: Kinktober 2018 [6]
Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Kinktober, Kinktober2018, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Prostitute, Riding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-12
Updated: 2018-10-12
Packaged: 2019-08-01 03:35:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16277036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Awesomepie3221/pseuds/Awesomepie3221
Summary: Fandral convinces Thor to come to a brothel with him. Thor reluctantly agrees.





	Pago

**Author's Note:**

> Smæra is Loki. According to some site I found, it's old Icelandic for clover. 
> 
> They are also not related in this one. 
> 
> Day six: prostitute. (I didnt like any of day sixes actual prompts, so I took a different day)

Fandral convinced Thor to accompany him to one of Asgard's brothel's. He told Thor it would be fun, and he dismissed all of Thor's concerns. 

"It is an Asgardian brothel, my friend, I use them all the time!" Fandral said, and he smacked Thor on the back with his confidence. "They are kept clean. You know the laws your father made for them to exist." 

"Yes, but I am a prince. It is not proper for princes to use brothel's," Thor tried. Fandral chuckled. 

"Then why are there nobel brothel's?" 

Thor couldn't fight him on that one. That's where they are now, at a brothel meant for the highest of the highest in Asgard. There are men and women sex workers that mill about and rush to flirt with those who walk in. It seems to be first come, first serve, with who gets to take a potential client to the back. Thor does not want to think about what goes on after that. He doesn't even want to be here. 

Fandral is chatting around, flirting with anyone who lets him. Consequantly, that happens to be every sex worker there. Thor stands where he has isolated himself, and he tries to hide his face in the shadows. He does not want to see anyone he recognizes, let alone be seen by them. He shouldn't be here. He has no reason to be here. He is a prince, he can get any woman or man he wants if he so much as goes outside and asks. So why is he currently somewhere where he has to pay for sex? 

He takes another step back to the wall. The brothel is dark, Thor isn't sure he's seen anywhere as dark as this brothel is in the middle of the day. There are no windows, which probably explains the slightly sour smell in the air. There are candles everywhere, but the main area of the brothel is huge, and there are not near enough candles to properly light the place. There are ones every yard or so on the wall, but they do very little. There's a chandelier, a circular one, in the exact middle of the room. It does more for the light than the candles on the walls. 

Thor thinks he's hidden well enough for no one to bother with him, but his hopes aren't met. Most of the sex workers care not for him, as they should. He is obviously letting them know he does not want their attention. 

But he seems to unfortantely catch the attention of one. He saunters over with a deliberate sway of his hips and he smirks at Thor when their eyes meet. His eyes are a burning green that overwhelm Thor's own blue. His feet are so perfectly placed on the stone until all Thor can hear is the echoed smacks of his heels on top of it. 

He reaches Thor and crowds him against the wall. The wall had previously been Thor's comfort, his way to hide from the escorts, but now one is taking away the comfort of it. The escort takes a strand of Thor's hair and tucks into behind his ear with upmost confidence. Thor is too dumbstruck to do anything to stop him from touching his precious hair. 

His fingers trace from the cusp of Thor's ear to the bottom of his chin. Thor's eyes subconsciously move from the escort's eyes to his lips, then back up. 

"The prince, hmm?" the escort says. His voice has a mischevious tilt in it. 

"I worry so," Thor says. The escort's finger taps on Thor's chest, and Thor sees that it is perfectly manicured a shade of black. Or maybe a very dark green. Thor can't tell in what little light they have. 

"What brings you here?" the escort asks.

"Fandral the Dashing." Thor points behind the escort's back only slightly. Fandral is still in the foyer. He is relaxed on some couch that looks far too clean for where it is, and he has his arms wrapped around a few women that giggle at his every word. Thor can't believe they are that stupid as to laugh at Fandral. He must be paying them well. "I am sure you are acquianted with him," Thor finishes. 

The escort looks at Fandral and then back at Thor with a quick flick of his eyes.

"Ah, yes. He has used my services many times," the escort says. Thor's stomach clenches. 

"I do not want to do anything," he says as forceful as he can. The escort seems to read past Thor, and he smiles again. He has on lip gloss. He is so different from all the other males that walk around, waiting for a new client to come in. No, the one pressing Thor against the wall is much more feminine, but still obviously male. 

"Then why come?" the escort says. Somehow, his head had fallen close to Thor's neck, and his breath is hot on Thor's skin. His fingers rest lightly on his chin. His leg makes it inbetween Thor's thighs, but it rubs nothing. 

Thor's breath hitches. "I am unsure," he chokes out. 

"You want the pleasure," the escort answers for him, and, somehow, Thor knows he is right. His lips meet Thor's neck and he calmly mouths at it. His fingers move into Thor's hair and he curls a strand around his fingers. 

Thor gives him better access to his neck. He can feel his clothes tighten in his crotch, and he can't believe this sex worker has managed to convince Thor he wants to be at the brothel in a few short actions. 

"The prince melts under my fingers," the escort mumbles into Thor's neck. He leaves a lazy kiss onto it, then pulls his head back to Thor's level. His eyes are soft, he looks at Thor from underneath fluffy eyelashes. "I will have to put that on my resume." 

He runs his hand through Thor's hair. 

"Do not," Thor tries. The escort tugs on his hair, makes Thor's head smack the wall and start pounding. "Please," he pathetically adds. 

"More like it," the escort says, and Thor can hear how smug he feels. 

Thor doesn't know what has happened. He never wanted to come to the brothel in the first place. Now this sharp man and his exquisite lips are making Thor's knees weak. He had taken dominance from Thor so quickly that Thor hadn't even noticed until it was completely out of his fingers, was a faint wisp of a thought at the back of his mind. 

"Your hand has made its way to my hair," Thor grumbles.

"Mhm," the escort says. His leg hitches up into Thor's crotch. Thor notices that his thigh runs smoothly over his clothes, and when Thor looks down, he sees the escort has on no clothes below his waist. He has on a thin thong that allows Thor to be able to see anything of him that he wishes.

"What of your name?" Thor says, as sudden to him as it is to the escort. The escort places his foot back a slight inch and lets go of Thor's hair. His smooth façade drops for a quick second, and Thor wonders if the escort has never been asked that before, or if he is so well known that his name travels and doesn't need to be said.

"Smæra," he says, lets it fall from his lips delicately. 

"Is that your real name?" 

"No."

"Shall I know your true name?" 

"No." 

Thor is not used to being denied anything, and he is used to becoming angry when he is. But he tries no more to get Smæra's real name. He can tell it is a noun he is not designed to have and it is not his fight to get. He does not want that kind of power over a sex worker, and the sex worker does not want to give it to him. In this rare occasion, Thor can respect being denied what he should not have.

Thor gives Smæra a curt nod. Smæra does not seem as confident in his actions, and Thor realizes that he has lost the upper hand. It now belongs to Thor, but for some reason he does not want it. He relaxes against the wall and ends up lowering himself the couple inches to Smæra's height as a silent inventation to control him again.

Thor thinks he should be ashamed. The mighty god of thunder lowering himself to a sex worker's height, but there's something about this sex worker that makes Thor want to. 

Smæra's eyes gleam from the candle's light, and they have a hint of something Thor can't name. 

Smæra connects their lips together and pulls Thor flush with him. The kiss is soft and passionate, and Thor knows that Smæra is good because he has had a lot of practice, but the kiss travels all the way to his toes and makes him feel like it was specifically designed for him. Maybe he's been put in a trance. That would explain the way he's acting.

Smæra's tongue makes its way into his mouth and it plays around. Thor tries to meet the motions, but Smæra is not having it. His hands travel down to Thor's biceps and he squeezes them as he deepens the kiss. Thor can barely breathe, or he has forgotten how to, but he knows he's gasping when Smæra finally lets go of him. He pulls back a few good inches, leaves Thor feeling cold and empty without their bodies together. He grins, the easy confidence written all over his face again. It matches him.

"My services cost two-hundred an hour. But," he trails his finger down Thor's chin like he has grown accustomed to, "I'm willing to lower it for the prince," he purrs. He knows he has Thor in his web, and he spins on his heel and walks away without a response. 

Thor's head is fuzzy. He think he's moving towards Smæra, but he can't quite tell. His feet are heavy, and his erection strains against his clothes. Only when Smæra leaves his view does he realize he's been still this whole time, and he rushes after him with clumsy steps, just barely catches the wink Fandral throws at him.

Smæra waits impatiently at a doorway, taps his hand on the rim and almost glares at Thor when he finally shows up. Thor gives a meager apology, but it doesn't feel right. Smæra pulls him into the room and slams the door behind them. 

The room is bright. Thor has to blink a few times while his eyes adjust, and he can't tell where Smæra is leading him, but he lets it happen. He is pushed onto something soft and fluffy; he bounces on it. His eyes are completely adjusted, finally, and he can see that Smæra is now next to him on the bed. The bed has many pillows, but no blankets, and Thor thinks it fitting. 

Smæra has lost the thin robe he had worn somewhere between the doorway and the bed, and he is left in only his thong. Thor's stomach is full of want. He cannot believe he is doing this. 

He can feel himself leaking precum inside his pants, and it's burning hot. Smæra climbs on top of him until he is straddling Thor's hips. He puts his hands on Thor's defined hip bones and rocks them around, grinds his crotch down onto Thor's. He throws his head back with a moan, but Thor takes Smæra's back in his hand and shoves him down to his chest. 

"Nothing fake," Thor demands. 

Smæra nods with only a slight falter, but he takes advantage of his new position as to bite onto Thor's earlobe and let it slide out from inbetween his teeth. He kisses along Thor's jawline, soft but wet, until he meets the side of Thor's lips, right where they indent into his cheeks. 

"What do you want me to do to you?" Smæra says, his voice soft like silk, and it vibrates across Thor's lips. Thor's erection is starting to cause him real pain. 

Thor puts his hands on Smæra's hips and spreads his fingers across his back. He is bony, but it can't be because he doesn't make a good living. Thor tucks his thumbs into Smæra's thong and pulls a thin strap from his skin. It clutches onto his thumb. 

"I want you to ride me," Thor says with all the breath in his lungs. He can see it before it even happens. He can see Smæra opening himself on his long fingers, because no matter who he has taken, he has not taken Thor before. And he can see the bob of his hair as he desperately tries to fit more of Thor inside him. Thor wants it. "And let me watch you finger yourself."

"Why don't you do it?" Smæra invites, but Thor shakes his head. 

"I want to watch," Thor says again. Smæra pulls up until he sits on Thor's crotch. Thor feels small underneath his gaze, which is fitting when he almost cries as Smæra gets off of him. 

"Undress," Smæra says. He does nothing but watch as Thor practically rips out of his clothes. When his pants come off, Thor lets out a sigh of relief as his cock is let loose and bounces onto his chest. It's slick with his own precum already, and Thor's hand finds it. He strokes it a couple of times if only to sedate his desire a small bit. 

Thor had gotten off the bed to undress. Smæra is on the side, his feet on the floor, and his arms hold up his relaxed upper body. He eyes Thor with a lopsided smile. He doesn't have to talk to let Thor know he is invited on the bed again. 

Smæra is on Thor before Thor is even on the bed. He throws Thor down, and his lips are all over Thor before Thor has an accurate grasp on what just happened. They meet his neck and play around, but they are careful to leave no mark. Would he have to pay extra for that? He almost asks. 

His lips travel down Thor's chest. One of his arms is being used to support himself, but the other has free reign over Thor's body. He focuses on Thor's bicep. He tries to wrap his entire hand around it, but his fingers are an inch too short, so he moves it down, traces Thor's side. His lips have found one of Thor's nipples, and Thor has never been particularly sensitive there, but Smæra can move his tongue so expertly that Thor wonders how he's never felt it before this moment. 

He circles around the nub, pinches it slightly with his teeth, then pushes his tongue flat down on it. The feeling goes straight to Thor's straining arousal. Smæra's free hand takes Thor's other nipple and he pinches it, lets his nails dig into the flesh a tiny bit before letting go, then dully twits it. Thor doesn't know how to react to what Smæra is doing to him. 

Smæra lets go of Thor's nipple but leaves behind a trail of hot saliva. He spreads some of it to his other nipple, circles the areola with the touch of a feather, then leaves it be. 

He kisses Thor's hipbone once, then pulls away, dares getting no further to Thor's girth. Thor whines a true whine that could go down in the mortal's history books if the topic wasn't so unsavory. 

"Sit up," Smæra says, and Thor obeys. 

Smæra is leaning back, and his legs are spread. He has lost his thong wherever his robe is, and Thor can see every little part of him. He is stunning. His thighs are pale and littered with faint bruises from people Thor doesn't want to think about, and his cock is flush against his stomach. Thor wonders if he gets that aroused for just anyone, or if he is a special case. 

Smæra has no oil or lube on his fingers, yet one sinks into him easily. His mouth is open only a slight bit, but he lets out no noise. Thor is impressed, and his cock twitches. Smæra fucks himself on that one finger so well already, it comes out and goes back in so smoothly. He adds another finger in less than minute, and this one has a little more resistance to it, but it doesn't take much for it to go in all the way. 

He wiggles his fingers around, Thor can tell from the way his palm moves. He pulls them out, and pointedly looks at Thor as he brings his fingers to his mouth, has his tongue lick them in the open air, then he encases them. They come out of his mouth with saliva covering them, and Thor's arousal is seriously causing him pain at this point. 

Smæra's fingers are against Thor's cock now, and he stares at it with curiousity, compares the width and length of his fingers to Thor's cock. He holds two against it, then adds a third, shakes his head, and adds a fourth finger.

"Nice," he whispers, and Thor hopes that's a compliment. Smæra looks at him with dark eyes, and he bites his bottom lip as he puts his fingers back into himself. Thor can't imagine the lip gloss has lasted, but his lips are covered in spit that shines in the light and looks the same. 

Thor doesn't notice when Smæra first puts his third finger in. He turns his back to face Thor and he relaxes into the bed, his ass shoved towards Thor and his face on the bed. Thor can see nothing but how Smæra's fingers gorgeously leave and enter his body, and he feels like he can't breathe once the fourth finger goes in. 

He can hear Smæra's little gasps and he wishes he could see his face. He'll pay attention to his face as he rides him, and oh gosh, the man fingering himself in front of Thor is going to ride him. Thor groans, his hips buck up without his permission, and he tries to grip the mattress, but he gives up quickly. He wants Smæra to touch him. 

The sound Smæra's ass makes as his fingers leave him for the last time is absolutely filthy, he has never heard anything more filthy. 

Smæra circles his rim a couple of times, and Thor can see whatever he used to make himself so slick reflect the light. Thor has no idea where he got that, but he doesn't seem to care anymore. 

"Lie down," Smæra says, and somehow he has turned himself into facing Thor again. He puts his hand on Thor's chest, spreads it out, and it doesn't cover it all. He is on Thor's waist again, and Thor is quick to grab his hips. Smæra takes Thor's cock in his hand and puts it against his own, strokes them together only once. He lifts himself up a bit, positions Thor under him and starts to sink down. It's hot and tight and Smæra probably should have prepared with another finger but he was so eager to get Thor's cock into him. 

The head is fully inside, and his breath comes out staggered, his fingers loosely at the base. He moves around a tiny bit, lets himself adjust to only the little he has put in so far. He sinks down another inch, then two inches, and he's barely halfway seated. 

Thor is already panting. He can't bare to look at Smæra, doesn't think he will last if he does, and his fingers clench harder into the mattress that won't let him ball it into his fists. He can feel Smæra take more and more of him, and distantly he thinks there's nothing left for him to take. His dignity had been stripped the moment he followed an escort into a room, his royal blood tainted by his gorgeous touch, will he even be worthy of his hammer anymore? 

Smæra bottoms out. His ass cheeks are flush to Thor, and he stretches out his back, lets it curve away from Thor as he wiggles a bit to become more adjusted. 

"You fill me up pretty good," he says, his voice low and raspy. He circles his hips, moans out loud, and Thor knows that moan is real. He's somehow proud of himself. 

Smæra is slow to fuck himself. He repositions himself so he can have his hands on Thor's chest, one on each pec, and he learns forward, bounces slightly in the process. 

Thor is now able to kiss him, and he takes advantage of it. He tangles his hands into Smæra's dark hair, and it's greasier than he had expected, but not unpleasant. He has fucked so many girls with fluffy and dry hair washed much too often. 

The kiss is deep and bruising and magnificent, and Thor regrets having to let go, but he wants Smæra to fuck harder and he is unable while leaning down. His hair flies out as he straightens out his back, his grip on Thor tightens a little more. He goes up and down with expert moves, and he picks up the pace as he goes. 

The sounds are delicious, a wet smacking everytime Smæra goes down, and the breathy moans from both of them. It's all so much in such a short amount of time that Thor can barely wrap his head around where he is, let alone who he's fucking, and let alone that he's going to orgasm in such a short amount of time. And he seriously is, there's no way he's going to last. Smæra is riding him so well, so deep, so hot. 

Smæra shifts his hips a tiny bit, and Thor can tell he is hitting Smæra's prostate. He is desperate to finish as well. 

"Smæra, please," Thor whispers, his voice pathetic compared to how it normally is. Smæra shoves down harder, and Thor's hands fly to his hips, press hard enough to bruise. He wants to bruise. He needs to bruise. 

His stomach is hot and sharp arousal rolls through it, he warns Smæra with words barely there, and he starts thrusting up to meet Smæra. He is so close, he needs one final push. 

Smæra kisses him hard, and it's all he needs to finish. His hips jerk with his release, and Smæra does not stop fucking him. He is so sensitive, and it feels so good, and it seems like he won't ever stop cumming, especially if Smæra doesn't stop moving. 

His hand sloppily finds Smæra's cock and he jerks it as quick as he can manage in his orgasmic state. He needs Smæra to finish with him, to get himself all over Thor's chest. 

Smæra's thrusts have no rhythm anymore, they are erratic and rushed, aimed to hit his sweet spot. When he finally comes, Thor's hand catches too much of it. He pulls it away, wants the rest to get on his chest, and it does. It pools up in his naval, and Thor couldn't have asked for any better. 

Smæra finishes, and he takes a few deep breaths before he takes Thor out of him. 

Thor is exhausted, seconds away from passing out, but he can't help but look at Smæra as he positions himself on the bed. He is doing something, but Thor can't tell. Does he have a finger inside him? Is he not overly fucked like Thor is? 

Smæra's fingers moves inside him for a moment, and it comes out covered in white. He smiles at Thor, brings his finger to his mouth, and licks it clean, all the while refusing to break eye contact with him. Thor's cock is insufferable, it already twitches to attention. 

Smæra kisses him, sneaks his tongue in, and Thor can taste himself on it, and he doesn't know how to react because he is tasting the byproduct of world-class sex with an escort. 

Somewhere, at the back of his mind, he knows he isn't worthy of Mjolnir after this.

**Author's Note:**

> I got way into this one and now im 6 days behind whoops


End file.
